


The Black Hole

by afrocurl



Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-12
Updated: 2007-07-12
Packaged: 2017-11-06 20:53:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/pseuds/afrocurl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They do this far too often, and something should tell them that it's never going to end well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Black Hole

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to leave the characters a mystery until after, which I know can create some awkward moments with this piece.
> 
> This whole thing was inspired by a book I read in college called _La Jalousie_ by Alain Robbe-Grillet.

The room is too small for his taste, and the carpet is too worn, but he continues to pace around the motel room in Burbank regardless. His feet easily travel the distance between the window in the corner to the king sized bed before he turns back around to the window, soon walking back towards the bed after returning to the window. She’s still in the bathroom “getting ready” for another one of their trysts.

He knows that these are a bad idea—an explosion waiting to happen, a time bomb ticking too fast down to zero—but he can’t help but be drawn to her. Shaking the idea from his head, he focuses on the small black hole in the wall above the bed. It's crumbling around the edges, and he wonders what would have made it. Before he can go and investigate, she exits the bathroom, dressed in a simple blue negligee. 

His breath hitches as she saunters over to him. Her hands reach out for him before he realizes it, and soon her fingers snake through his hair, pulling him closer to her. Hands quaking, he rests them hesitantly against her hips as her thin satin sheath clings to his fingertips.

He tries not to think as her feet move towards the shabby mattress, but he can’t help but remember that he has to be at work in another thirty minutes.

She hits the itchy fabric of the synthetic duvet, falling ungracefully against it. A bubbling laugh escapes her lips before she kisses him—insistent, demanding, as if she doesn’t know when they’ll be here again. He opens up to her demands with just as much urgency as she has, if not more. He knows that this has to be quick, just as well as she does.

One hand moves up her torso to caress one breast as the other slides lower and begins to play with her satin bikini. Rubbing his hand over her pubis, he notices the way the kiss they’re enveloped in changes—there’s a hitch in her movements, a noticeable shift in her tongue’s playful patterns—and it drives him crazy. 

She breaks the kiss seconds later, catching her breath before seeking out his neck. She murmurs in his ear, something simple yet evocative, before biting down against his earlobe just as his hands demand more from her. She moans as his hands kneed her body into submission.

Stopping his ministrations, he looks at her intently, before he slips one finger into her. He curls his finger as he reaches further into her. Her hips buck against his digit, willing him on.

-*-

He walks briskly towards the small office of the motel. He’s done this a few times before, but he never feels any different as he reserves a single room for the afternoon. 

She’s only in town for a few days this time, and he _needs_ her before she’s gone again for months. 

Key in hand, he marches up the stairs, wondering how long it will take for her to arrive. He knows she knows where to meet him, but he never stops thinking that she’ll never show.

The door opens easily under his hand—the automatic gesture something familiar, even if it shouldn’t be—the room the same as always. He prefers to have something else, but she insists on the anonymity of the motel; something to keep him safe, and something to keep her hidden.

He paces around the room, waiting for her knock. The room is too small and the carpet is too worn for his tastes, but he’ll never deny her anything. His feet easily travel the distance between the window in the corner to the king sized bed before he turns back around to the window, soon walking back towards the bed after returning to the window. 

He stops pacing as he examines a black hole above the bed. It's crumbling around the edges, and he wonders what it caused it. He forgets about it as a hard knock echoes through the small dingy room.

-*-

He pushes into her harder this time, need taking over his body, as she moans against him. She responds in kind, hard bucks and louder moans in the room, urging him on. Her legs hug tightly against his thighs, her heels pushing into the toned muscles as he thrusts back into her. 

Her moans come in broken syllables, panting breaths between them before she shudders and stills. He continues to push against her, bringing his own release a moment later. 

Falling helplessly against her, his eyes close before he pulls her closer to him.

-*-

She never asks too many questions when she enters the motel room. It’s not in her nature to ask him questions about his life—he’s never going to tell her anything, and she assumes anything she wants from the simple fact that they meet at all now. Instead she walks quietly into the bathroom to change. It’s a simple movement, yet she knows that it says she doesn’t trust him. She never undresses in front of him now—it’s too personal—even if what they do after is _far_ more personal. 

She’s scared he’ll never let her go if he sees her, and she knows that she’ll be gone again for months hours after they finish.

She walks out of the small bathroom as he’s looking at something on the wall. She pushes herself against him, grabbing the nape of his neck and looking for contact she knows will be fleeting.

His hands cling to her before she falls against the mattress. 

A small microphone moves through the hole above the bed while the pair seek each other out.

-*-

He waits in the room next to theirs, not out of pain, but necessity. It’s a job, and he’s only following orders, but he dislikes the sound of them panting and moaning more than he dislikes the Dodgers, Yankees and Giants combined.

He can’t understand why he has to do _this_ job every time, but he supposes it has something to do with his loyalty and sense of duty. 

Moving the microphone through the hole slowly, he wonders what they’ll say today.

The small device in place, he sits back against the chair and continues reading the screenplay of _Chinatown_. 

He realizes that his life is too much like Jake’s, and he starts to wonder if he’s going to have a moment where his nose is cut for the sake of finding out more on these two.

The thought only distresses him, and he puts the book down in favor of an old copy of _The Los Angeles Times_.

-*-

He knows not to talk after they’re finished—he learned it long ago after he tried to understand why she willingly came to him each time she was in town. Instead he just hugs her tightly and hopes that she won’t push away from him a moment later.

He mumbles something softly against her skin, and she stiffens in response. She separates his fingers from hers before she walks back to the bathroom.

He watches her as she moves away, afraid that he’ll never see her again.

-*-

The microphone moves slowly back into the other room as she pads towards the bathroom.

-*-

The click of the door echoes through the room briefly, signaling to him that she left again. He sighs heavily, slowly moving off the mattress and over to his hastily cast off clothes.

His attention goes back to the black hole above the bed. It looks bigger now than it did before. He pads over to investigate, but stops just before he gets to the bed, knowing that it doesn’t matter what goes on with that hole he always looks at. _It's just a stupid hole in a shitty motel._

-*-

He comes back to the room before she’s next in town. He comes here out of need—for a reminder of what she does to him and what he’s missing—but also because he can’t think of anything else to do. He can’t remember when he became so pedestrian, but he pushes that thought away as his hand slides over the cold metal doorknob.

His feet don’t leave marks against the carpet, and he remembers that this place is too cheap to care about quality. Shucking off his shoes, he drops against the itchy fabric of the synthetic duvet. It smells like it always does, even though she’s nowhere near him.

Pushing himself back against the headboard, he briefly looks at the hole in the wall. It’s crumbled more around the edges, he thinks, before he looks away from it.

The room reminds him of her _too_ much, but he needs to sense her, here, today. It’s been twenty years since they lost someone close to them, and he’s never gone back since.

His hand slowly grabs at his pants—his subconscious playing tricks with him again. He thinks of _her_ \--not the one he longs for right now, but the one who came before her—long blonde hair playing against his hips. Only this time he knows that she can’t be there, and neither can _she_ , even as the images of them both dance around. 

He pulls hard against himself, looking for release from the torture playing out in his mind. Slick with want, he works himself more and more—anything to get the memories to leave him alone—before he comes whispering their names. 

Never one to think he’s truly deviant, he wonders what anyone else would think if he talked about coming to the images of two women merged into one.

-*-

She calls briefly from an airport to say she’ll be in town tomorrow. 

He calls the motel to book the room.

-*-

He’s more nervous than usual about their meeting. He paces more than usual, stares longer and harder at that infernal hole. It looks larger than it did the last time, but he doesn’t spend more time examining the wall before she knocks on the door.

He grabs hold of her after the door closes. He moves them to the bed quickly, not letting her change in the bathroom as usual. He removes everything she’s wearing, slowly eying her figure and how it’s changed over the years.

He palms her breasts before her brassiere is discarded at the same time that he situates his knee between her legs. He inches his knee higher and higher before he’s touching her black satin thong.

She’s wiggling underneath him, looking for friction, despite the change in their routine. She moans her protest at the awkward contact before he silences her with a kiss.

His mouth just as demanding as the rest of his body, he slips his tongue over the seam of her teeth before she opens herself to him fully. 

Dueling for control, they each twist and turn around each other looking for an advantage. 

The hole in the wall widens slightly as the microphone emerges from the other room.

-*-

She’s moaning more than before, and he pushes her harder and harder to bring her over the edge. He slams harder into her before she breaks apart under him once again. 

He slowly withdraws himself from her before he brings her closer to him. 

She laughs brightly as he whispers into her ear.

The other man notes the change in them, and scribbles down what he thinks they spoke.

-*-

She’s still wrapped against him, hours later, and he can’t tell what is going on. 

She starts to wiggle her ass against his torso and length before flipping over to face him.

“I want to stay,” she hisses against his ear.

A second later, she’s flush against him as he steadily starts to rock into her. 

Painfully slow, he toys with her the same way that he thinks she’s toying with him.

“I mean it,” she pants out between languid thrusts from him.

As the words hang in the air, he pushes harder into her before she can wrap her legs around him. 

They move in tandem now, rocking hard against each other with sloppy kisses and breathy confessions.

One hard thrust brings them over together—loud screams followed by absolute quiet.

-*-

The microphone recedes from their room.

The other man drops his book before slowly padding over to the small suitcase by the bed. 

The soft clicks of it bounce off the wall momentarily before he secures the gun and silencer from the case.

It fits together well, he knows, even if it hasn’t seen any use in seventeen years. He packs up the rest of his belongings into the case, before he looks back at the room one last time.

Ready and waiting, he slowly opens the door and walks in front of their room.

Five quick shots through the window of their room; their screams ignored by any of the other guests in the motel.

The gun falls easily into his trench before he walks down the stairs and to his black sedan.

Safely inside his car, he makes one phone call before pulling out of the parking lot.

-*-

The hole in the wall disappears after the investigation ends and the motel attempts to move on from the tragedy.

The shooter returns every year to remember his last hit for his patron. He smirks each time he realizes that he finally got the best of her in that moment.

Slowly walking to his car, he muses that his life isn’t like Jake’s after all. There is bloodshed, but he’s not distraught over it. He’s free at last, and he realizes that he’s long since left his personal Chinatown for the lazier days of Los Angeles.

**Author's Note:**

> As I originally wrote it, it was Logan and Veronica with Clarence shooting them on Duncan's behalf.


End file.
